“Oh! could you suspect even for an instant that I should permit my own selfish passion to triumph over my affection for that dear daughter who has been so miraculously restored to me?” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton. “No, my lord—no, my esteemed friend—I am not a woman of such a despicable description! Not an hour has elapsed since, in this very room, I said to Sir Gilbert Heathcote, ‘We must separate, my well-beloved—and perhaps for a long, long time—if not for ever!’ He understood me—he appreciated my motives; and he scarcely sought to reason against my resolution—But, oh! this yielding—this assent on his part, was all the more generous—all the more praiseworthy—all the more noble!” cried Mrs. Sefton, in enthusiastic admiration of the absent baronet’s character: “for I must no longer keep the fact a secret from you, my dear friend—although I blush to acknowledge it——But you will not think the worse of Agnes on account of her mother’s crime——”
“Heaven forbid that I should be so unjust!” ejaculated Trevelyan, in an impassioned tone of profound sincerity.
“Thanks for that assurance—a thousand thanks!” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton. “Yes—she indeed is pure and virtuous; and I would sooner perish by my own hand than present to her an example of demoralisation in my own conduct. And it is this same sentiment that animates Sir Gilbert Heathcote—that has induced him to sacrifice all his own happiness to her welfare—so that she may never have to think ill of her mother! And now, my dear friend, you can probably conjecture the truth which my lips scarcely dare frame?—you can perhaps divine wherefore Sir Gilbert Heathcote is so deeply—so profoundly interested in the welfare of Agnes?”
“Yes—I comprehend it all!” cried Trevelyan.
“And now you must look upon me with loathing—with abhorrence,” murmured Mrs. Sefton, burying her countenance in her hands: “you must despise and contemn the adulterous woman who allowed her husband to exist in the belief that another’s child was his own!”
“No—no, my dear madam,” exclaimed the young nobleman; “I entertain no such feelings towards you. I am acquainted with all your history—yes, all——”
“All!” she repeated, in a tone of surprise: then, suddenly recollecting herself, she said, “Oh! true—Sir Gilbert told me that my husband was to call upon you this morning; and his lordship has therefore given you his version of our marriage-history.”
“Indeed, my dear friend,” returned Trevelyan, “he not only corroborated every thing you had already made known to me, but gave me so many additional details, all speaking in your favour—or at least in extenuation——”
“I am glad that the Marquis does me so much justice,” interrupted Mrs. Sefton: “heaven knows that I wish him all possible happiness! And that he has endeavoured to obliterate all recollection of me from his mind, I am well aware; and in the arms of his mistresses he has sought relief from any sense of injury or wrong that he may have experienced. I do not mention this fact for the base and unworthy purpose of disparaging the man whom I know that I have injured: but it is in justice to myself——”
“Ah! my dear lady, let us turn away from this topic as soon as possible,” interrupted Trevelyan.